by Lynda Bailey
“Yeah. That’s it.” He groaned. “Just like that, sweetheart.”
Warmth shivered through her. He’d called her sweetheart. She’d never been called anything but Matt or girl her whole life. The endearment persuaded her arms to wrap around his neck.
He crushed her to him and bodily picked her up. Unlike in the barn, she didn’t fight. He laid her down on the mattress, stretching out beside her. The old bed ropes moaned and sagged under the extra weight. Her kisses grew bolder. She dueled with his tongue as an unexplained need swelled inside her.
He left her mouth to again work the buttons of her shirt, his breathing ragged. She was glad she’d removed the tattered long johns earlier in the day. When the buttons were undone, he moved to her feet and wrestled off her boots. He then undid the buttons of her denims and plucked the Levi’s, along with her drawers, from her legs in one sweep.
Anticipation raised goose flesh along her skin when he sat back on his haunches and gently pulled open her shirt.
His gaze went flinty. His nostrils flared. For the longest time, he just stared at her.
He inhaled a tight breath as his palms ghosted around her breasts. His thumbs stroked her nipples. On instinct, she arched her back. More than anything, she wanted the stiff peaks in his mouth. He must have read her thoughts because in the next breath, he pushed her breasts together and lowered his head.
At the first lick of his tongue, air dammed up in her throat. The second peeled her lips back in a silent cry of pleasure. On the third, she was lost, moaning and thrashing her head on the small pillow.
“You like that, don’t you?” His husky voice pulsed across her nerve endings. “Tell me you like it.”
“I…like…it.”
“Want me to suck your pretty nipples into my mouth?”
“Y—yes.”
“Look at me, Matt. Watch me.”
She tipped up her head and satisfaction lifted his lips at her acquiescence. With irises nearly black, he descended once again to her breast.
The tug of his tongue blurred her vision. He suckled first one breast then the other. The wetness between her thighs increased, like she was crying. Down there. Desperate for something, but she didn’t know what. He moved his hand between her legs. On impulse, she clamped them together. Tight.
“Open for me.”
Her muscles relaxed at his hoarse command and he wiggled his fingers until they touched her in the most carnal of ways. A way she never would have dreamed of. He stroked through her wetness, seeking then finding a tiny nub of skin.
Pleasure whipped out from where he fondled. Where he caressed and pinched. More moans escaped as her legs drew themselves wider. They shook with the tension building inside her, pulling her tight. So tight, she thought sure she’d snap.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he mumbled against her breast. “You’re gonna come for me.”
She didn’t know where she was going. Maybe over a cliff because that’s what it felt like. A very steep cliff.
Logan had claimed this was normal. But how this sensation could be normal was beyond her understanding. She only knew she didn’t want it to stop, not even if she did die.
The cliff edge loomed closer. She held her breath in expectation of being flung over it. Of dying. He shoved a finger inside her. It stung briefly, right before her intimate muscles cramped around the finger.
His mouth sucked harder on her nipple. His finger moved in and out of her, slick and wet. He added a second finger. Of their own accord, her hips bucked to his rhythmic cadence. Her heart thundered. Her hands twisted in the bed sheet. Blood pounded at her temples. Stars erupted behind her eyelids.
This is it. I’m really dying this time.
Explosions ripped through her, one after another. Her scream echoed in the room. Her body convulsed. Her hips lifted from the mattress. She flew through the air.
Off the cliff.
Maybe seconds or hours passed before she floated back to Earth, unmoving. The bed bounced. She cracked open her eyes to see Logan, standing and ripping at his clothes. She struggled onto her elbows for a better view.
Though shadowed, the features of his face were drawn tight. Lamplight hugged the sharp angles of his back and shoulders. His body appeared unyielding, hard. She wanted to touch it, feel it. Discover if he was as rigid as he looked.
He shucked his denims and she stared at the one body part that was very much rigid.
Then he was back beside her, his cock wedged between their bodies, hot and thick. He kissed her hard. A demanding kiss she matched, her own passion again flashing to life. Fresh flames ready to consume her. Consume them both. Because he burned as hot as her. The touch of his skin was like fire, his coarse, guttural groans scorching through her.
He lifted from her lips. “Touch me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
She slid her hands across his shoulders, marveling at the strength beneath her fingertips, then back around his neck and down his chest. He shifted to the side to give her access. The hair on his chest tickled her palm. She scraped a nail over his nipple. Heard his harsh intake of air right before he reclaimed her mouth. She grazed the nipple again. Then again. She reveled in his barbed responses. The kiss turned savage. One of clashing teeth and delving tongues.
Her hand went lower. Down, down. Over taut muscles and a bushy bellybutton until finally brushing a velvet heat.
She gasped into his mouth and snatched her hand away. Her eyes flew open to see him staring back. Swirling clouds of lustful gray.
Powerful. Possessive.
The force of his gaze made her shudder. He took her wrist, bringing her fingers back to the smooth hotness. Held her hand there. Showed her. Taught her.
He released his hold and, with hesitant moves, she explored. It was downy soft, yet hard and oh, so hot. She traced the length several times before enclosing it in her fist and squeezing lightly. He tore his mouth from hers.
“Ah, God, sweetheart—” His gruff voice rasped her ears. “Now pump your hand up and down my cock.”
She complied and he rolled on top of her with enough room for her hand to maneuver.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Like that. Just like that.”
His hips moved, his cock thrusting in and out of her palm. He again took her breast in his mouth while burying a hand between her legs. One suckled, the other stroked. She galloped back into the raging heat of passion. She moaned and opened her legs wider.
“I’m gonna come, Matt,” he mumbled. “Come again for me, sweetheart. With me.”
The raw edge of his voice further inflamed the fire. She tried to take everything in. All that was happening, all she was feeling. His hot, solid body on top of her. The quickening of his hips. His mouth drawing on her breast. His fingers pinching that nub of pleasure.
Tension built within her chest, higher and stronger. Her world shattered on a bolt of white hot lightning. Juices poured from her body onto his hand.
His rough groan joined hers as a warm, sticky fluid shot up her belly to her breasts. He crumbled onto her, his face nestled in the hollow of her neck, his labored breathing mingling with hers, heating her skin.
Time stretched out. He lifted his head to look at her. “You all right?”
She nodded as her gaze roamed his face. She could see tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. A musky smell infused her senses.
His lips twitched then curved up. “Good.”
He kissed her. Not a fiery, commanding kiss. But a soft, gentle one where his lips held and caressed. One that made her heart twirl. He pulled back and shifted off the bed. She started to follow, but he put his hand out.
“Stay put. I’m just gettin’ somethin’ to clean us.”
~ ~ ~
On rubbery legs, Logan padded across the narrow room. He took the time to collect himself.
Whatever preconceived idea of what would happen between him and Matt had been blown to smithereens. After his behavior in the bar
n, he figured she’d be wary, cautious. She’d been anything but wary and cautious. She’d been a fiery armload of passion with kisses that tasted like honey and a body that felt like heaven. He couldn’t wait to get hold of her again.
He poured water from the pitcher into the basin and wetted a cloth. He washed himself, feeling pinpricks dance across his neck. She had to be staring at him. After rinsing the cloth, he turned around. Her gaze was indeed latched on him. Instead of looking away, she continued to peruse his body. Openly, without hesitation. He figured as a virgin, she’d be shy and demure. Hardly. He quirked a small grin. His wife, the vixen. In spite of being spent, his cock jumped. He sat on the bed and wiped his seed from her belly and breasts.
“Why’d you marry me?”
Her whispered question cooled his heating blood. He took his time cleaning her skin. “Why’d you marry me?”
Long, black eyelashes swept down over gorgeous green eyes at his rejoinder. “I gave my word.” Her shoulder stole up an inch. “And I wanted to give Pa some peace before he died.”
Her blunt answer crushed his pride, not that he minded. As long as Matt was close by his side, he wouldn’t mind one bit.
“Will you truly give me money from the stock sale so I can go to Kansas City?”
That landed a blow to his self-respect. He held her gaze. “You’re not the only one ‘round here who keeps their word, Matt.”
“But once Pa died, why not just be done with me? Why give your word at all?”
Lordy, what to say to that? A rampage of thoughts charged through his head as the truth about his feelings for her teased his tongue. But to confess his love for Matt could prove dangerous. Very dangerous.
She still planned to leave. If she saw him as an obstacle to that goal, sunlight wouldn’t crack the horizon before she’d be gone. And if he did anything so stupid as to try and physically stop her, she’d shoot him pointblank and bury his body so the coyotes couldn’t even find him.
Worse yet, what if he proclaimed himself to her and she didn’t return his feelings? He figured she had to like him at least some, but marrying had been the last thing she’d wanted. She’d only gone through with it because she gave a dying man her word. What if she rejected him out of shame? He was, after all, nothing but a shit-kicker. Always had been, always would be.
Finished with cleaning her skin, he drew the covers over her stiff nipples before succumbing to the temptation to suckle them. He glanced at her. Her eyes, shining like emeralds, kicked him in the chest. She was waiting for an answer. Best thing for him to do would be to keep the truth to himself. At least for now. “Guess I just want to see you happy.”
Her face puckered into an adorable frown. “Why would you care if I’m happy?”
“Reckon I owe it to you.”
Her frown deepened. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
His lips kicked up at her irked tone. “Maybe not, but you asked why and that’s why.” He leaned close and placed a scant kiss on her lips then stood and pulled on his denims.
She lifted onto her elbows. “Where you going?”
He shrugged on his shirt. “I need to check with the boys before turning in.” He picked up his boots. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a little while.”
After a pause, she nodded and rolled to her side, the covers tucked over her shoulder. With one final look to his wife, he left.
Chapter Five
Matt slept a heavy, dreamless sleep. Each time consciousness hovered near, sleep reclaimed her. When her eyelids finally obeyed the order to open, the early morning sun lightened her meager room with a hazy glow.
She stared at the indentation of Logan’s head on her pillow. He’d come back to her bed instead of sleeping in Gene’s room. At the time, she’d thought it strange, but didn’t quarrel when he folded her in tight to his chest, one of his long legs thrown over her two. It was the best night’s sleep she could remember having in a long time. She traced a lazy finger over the depression.
The body heat might be gone, but not the heat of the memory of her and Logan. Their bodies, naked. Touching and being touched.
Icicles shook her middle. A woolly blanket encased her heart. Tears pricked her eyes.
What the hell?
She wanted to be angry at the filmy moisture clouding her gaze. Wanted to fling back the covers and vault from the bed, determined not to allow Logan Cartwright to have any power over her.
Too bad she couldn’t muster the energy. It was as if all her strength had been drained. By Logan.
She crawled from bed and the morning’s cold temperature, combined with her growling stomach, spurred her to move a bit faster. She pulled on her denims, donned a clean shirt, rolled on her socks and stuffed her feet into boots. Minutes later, she hustled across the yard, anxious for whatever breakfast Chuck had prepared. And even more anxious to see Logan.
Inside the cookhouse, the familiar smells and warmth greeted her. Arch and the young cowboy, Josh Petty, stood at the wooden worktable in front of the massive fireplace as Chuck stirred a big kettle of grits. He plopped generous portions of the cereal on each outstretched plate. The men snagged biscuits and speared hunks of beef steak before sitting at the long dining table and digging into their meals. She hung her coat on a peg, wondering where Logan was.
Chuck caught her eye, an eyebrow lifted in a silent question. The number of times she hadn’t been first in line for breakfast could be counted on three fingers. She ignored the blatant stare and took a plate. He ladled grits onto it.
The door opened behind her. Winter wind ruffled the back of her head. She knew, without looking, that Logan had just entered the cookhouse.
She peered over her shoulder. There stood her husband, Dave Waters at his side. Though Logan was listening to whatever the smaller man was saying, his gaze never left hers. It clung to her face, his soft, appaloosa eyes steeped with tenderness. And hunger. She damn near quaked in her boots at the unconcealed lust.
A slow grin spread across his face. She returned a shy smile when the not-too-subtle whack of Chuck’s spoon on her plate swung her back around.
“Iffen you don’t mind, girl,” he drawled. “I’se got other hands to feed.” His overgrown beard convulsed as his lips lifted. “Make eyes at your husband some other time.”
She ducked her head, her cheeks heating, and swiftly finished filling her plate. She then sat at the end of the table. The normal table chatter was subdued. She tucked into her breakfast rather than dwell on looks the men were giving her.
As Gene’s daughter, she’d never been given more than passing glances by the hands. But as Logan’s wife, her status had somehow changed. She just didn’t know if that change was a good thing.
An overflowing plate materialized beside her and she looked up at her husband. Hunger still burned in his gaze though he’d banked it a bit. “Mind if I sit here?”
In response, she slid closer to the bench edge and he worked his legs under the table until he could sit, his hard thigh pressed tight to hers.
She remembered those legs, naked. His kisses, his touch. His cock in her hand. His seed spreading over her belly—
Her fork clattered to the table. What little conversation there was at the table, died.
She hastily picked up the utensil with a quick glance to Logan.
Amusement relaxed his mouth, like he shared a secret with her. Her gaze lit on the other men at the table, each one deliberately looking elsewhere when she caught them staring. She returned a brief smile to her husband before scooping more grits into her mouth. They did have a secret, of sorts.
He cut into his steak. “Chuck’s going to town for supplies and I need to stop by the bank. Want to ride along?”
“I never finished mucking the barn yesterday.”
“Dave said he’d do that.”
Confusion crinkled her forehead. “Why would he do that?”
“Because I asked him to.”
She paused in cutting her meat. She didn�
�t need Logan delegating her duties to the other men. Just because they were man and wife didn’t mean she wanted, or required, special treatment. She opened her mouth, but his touch to her arm stopped the protest.
“I’d like you to come,” he amended. “You haven’t left the ranch since before your pa took sick. I thought you’d enjoy the ride.”
“But the boys at the herd need to be spelled so they can get some sleep.”
“Bart and Josh will head out after breakfast. We’ll join them once we’re done in town.” He popped the hunk of meat into his mouth and chewed.
She gathered her plate and stood. “I have to feed and saddle Turk.”
He touched her arm again. “Done and done. Finish your breakfast.”
She blinked, her butt suspended over the bench. With a plunk, she sat back down. One of the men asked Logan a question and he turned to answer. She tried to refocus on her meal, but a tightness in her throat made swallowing difficult.
Maybe she should be insulted that Logan had taken care of her horse or that he assumed she’d ride to town with him. Yet she only felt grateful that he’d invited her along. The tightness turned fuzzy.
She figured the only reason he’d married her was to get the ranch. It made perfect sense for the ranch to be her dowry. Logan was the best cowboy in all of Indian Territory. He’d build on the Standing T’s modest success. What didn’t make sense was Logan being so dang nice to her.
A niceness that extended to the bedroom.
She picked up her cup and casually observed her husband as he gave the men their assignments for the day. He was a good and fair boss, never treating any man better or worse than any other. His treatment of Tom yesterday was the first time she’d ever seen his temper rule his judgment. And he was a good man. She would miss him when she left.
Sudden remorse stabbed her heart. She would miss Logan. Very much. But would he miss her?
The question was as unwelcome as it was unsettling. Would he pine for her or simply move on to someone else? Someone prettier, who smelled nicer and wore dresses instead of denims? She didn’t want to care one way or the other if he missed her. Yet she did. And more than just a little.
